


To Remember

by CrevanFox, LaterTuesday



Category: Aeschylus - The Oresteia
Genre: F/M, Gods, Historical, Olympians, Tragedy, Violence, Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrevanFox/pseuds/CrevanFox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaterTuesday/pseuds/LaterTuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>retelling of Clytemnestra's tragedy, hopefully making her a more sympathetic character</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xochiquetzl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xochiquetzl/gifts).



Clytemnestra has never been known for her beauty, nor her grace, nor her wifely ability. Her name means schemer, and she is true to it.

Had she been a man she would have counselled kings. As a woman she is little more than a trophy. Married first to Tantalus, she is taken as a wife, although never proposed to, never asked for her hand by her new husband, and her old husbands slayer; Agamemnon.

Tantalus had been little better than a jailer, but he was at least kind to her, heeded her council in some things, although he never did realize just how much control she had over his affairs, near the end. Agamemnon is not kind, nor gentle. He does not take the advice of women. He has no patience for her.

This new cage is much less comfortable. But she bides her time.

She learns her peoples secrets, the rumours of the marketplace. Her knowledge of the surrounding area is considerable, but something is still lacking.

Eventually there are children and for that she is grateful. She has new purpose, new company, and new people to tell her stories to.

She praises the Gods for her blessings.

Her children are everything; Elektra, Orestes, and little Iphigeneia, the most delicate and beautiful of the three. Perhaps that should have been a warning to her.

Iphigeneia is also the sweetest, crying if an animal must be slaughtered for a meal, if a snake must be killed for coming too close to their home. Her heart bleeds for the innocent and villainous alike. Her soul is true, and her heart pure.

Orestes is a little soldier in waiting. He runs the palace grounds with a little wooden sword, challenges the servants and visitors to duels (although Agamemnon puts a stop to him challenging anyone they do not own).

Elektra is darkness and light. Pale skin and raven hair that would win her a suitor is she were not already married to the idea of the Gods, eager to serve in a temple.

When her husband sends word that he has found a suitor worthy of their daughter, Clytemnestra knows he means Iphigenia. Even a king would not dare defy a God by forcing a priestess in training into marriage. Clytemnestra sends her, but with great apprehension. Iphigeneia cries, she is too young. Clytemnestra was also married off at a young age, property instead of partner. But there is little she can do to fight it. Servants take her out the door in tears.

A while later, while weaving amongst her women, she feels a shiver, as though a scream had passed through her. But no one else seems bothered and Clytemnestra puts it out of her mind. It is unbecoming of the Lady of the House to be bothered by such fancies. Many of her women are losing men to this war with Troy, and Clytemnestra must appear strong and calm.

Later, after the ships sails are lost over the horizon a slave comes to her. She does not hear the words, but still knows what has been said. She rushes to the waters edge. Her baby, her child, her little girl has been left, desecrated, vivisected on the alter. Her lifeless eyes stare up at a Godless sky.

Her child has been murdered by her husband.

The fury burns away the grief. It's a wild fire in the tall grass when there is no hope of rain. It's a thunderous storm destroying crops and leaving the fruit of her heart to rot on the floor of her soul. It consumes and destroys everything but the need to kill that which killed her child.

She has years to plan her vengeance. The war takes a very long time to finish. She doesn't even care about the outcome, or the fate of her sister who sits at the middle of it. All that matters is avenging her child.

Every night she dreams about her little girl, the way she must have fought against the men twice her size, screamed and shrieked as her own father raised the blade. She doubts Agamemnon had so much as a tear in his eye when he did it.

She takes a lover, anything to distract her from the sounds of her child. She can almost hear her even when she is awake. Perhaps the Furies have chosen to punish her, for allowing the murder of a blood kin to go unanswered for. She wishes she had the power to reach out across the waters that protect her husband from her wrath and strangle him, to leave him bloody on the floor with the same injuries he gave their child.

Clytemnestra leaves the care of her other children more and more to the servants. She has not told them what became of their little sister and doubts she could. Even if she does not tell them, she can not stand the look of love and joy on their faces when her baby is dead.

She plans it out, how she'll draw him into the hall, or perhaps their marriage bed. The sounds he'll make, the way the blood will spurt.

When the time comes, all her schemes, and plans come to nothing. It's as simple as picking up an axe. The face of the young woman with him mocks her. Years of worry and anguish have done her looks no favours. That he could arrive after murdering her child with this final insult, this whore and their own children is an offence beyond all others.

New children to replace the one he destroyed.

A new wife to replace the wreck he left behind.

The axe is sweet as it whistles through the air and lands in his back. She wrenches it out and strikes again, and again.

The woman doesn't run, doesn't fight. If the stupid cow is too weak to fight then Clytemnestra will not spare her.

She swings the axe until her arms cramp and the handle is too slick to grasp.

For the first time in years Iphigeneia is no longer crying.


End file.
